


the painted pebbles

by ephelid



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Alzheimer's Disease, Family, Gen, but a little sad anyway, but not that sad, child!pakunoda, chilhood fic, sad fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-18
Updated: 2017-02-18
Packaged: 2018-09-25 09:46:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9813812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ephelid/pseuds/ephelid
Summary: Little Paku loves her excentric grandfather and his pranks. But when old age associates with illness to slowly take him away from her, one bit at a time, she understands she can't hold anyone back, and the importance of memories.





	

Life expectancy is so low in Meteor City that Pakunoda always felt particularly grateful she could have known her grandfather. He was a calm man, who had achieve every goals in his life at such an early age he had also achieve every rests, and started new hobbies and ephemeral passions every week.

He was funny, in a disconcerting way, and Paku didn’t always understood his humor. She was probably too young, and her Grand’pa, not really on point about children’s jokes. She could get his little pranks, though; and she always laughed heartily when he faked to talk to her plushies, or when he pretended to look after his glasses that were on the top of his head.

So, the first time he called her by her mother’s name, she just laughed. The confused face of her mother was part of the prank, too. When he started to put his paint in the fridge, to go outside to buy milk and stopped to the neighbor’s, it was nothing to worry about. Just another whim of his.

When her aunt woke them up at the middle of the night because he was missing, it hardly disturbed her sleep. Gran’pa had the right to take a walk any time, he was an adult. They quickly found him anyway, he was hardly a couple of streets away from his house. He was probably at some funny idea again. She had to ask him the day after.

But when they visited him, he faked he couldn’t recognize Paku’s dad. It was a joke, of course, how couldn’t he recognize him ? Paku couldn’t understand why her dad got angry, and quickly shown concern. When they came back home. they talked about a doctor.

For the first time, Paku started to worry. Doctors were rare at Meteor, and expensive. They couldn’t afford them but for really severe diseases. Paku asked, refraining a cry : is Gran’pa going to die ? She’d take care of him. She’d call the doctor, and give gran’pa his aspirin. Aspirin was the only meds she knew, and she thought it cured everything.

All the family contributed, and they accompany Gran’pa to the doctor. Paku hadn’t been allowed to join. When they came back, they were bringing along with them a very weird word, hard to pronunce, Azemener, Alimeizer. Paku couldn’t say it. Neither the adults, as it seemed for the little girl. They said the name once, and then never talked about it again, as if it was rude, as if it was this Alizeimer guy who was dying inside Gran’pa, and not Gran’pa himself.

Paku didn’t know this guy, but he was obviously sad and bitter, couldn’t stop to die, and didn’t want to die alone. Everyday he took bits of her Gran’pa with him, piece after piece. First he took his words, and replaced them with his owns, and builted odd sentences nobody could understand. Then he took every path, he started to lose himself in the city, in the district, in the yard, in his house, and then in his memories.

He never knew which day he was, which year. Paku got used to be called by her mother’s name. Her father weren’t allowed in his house any more, and she knew it wasn’t because he was angry at him. She could understand now, she was old enough for that. Just a couple of months had passed, but she felt like she had grown way much older, as if the years that were dripping out Gran’Pa memories were passing inside her, infused through her hand skin when they painted pebbles.

It had became her obsession. She had started to collect cute pebbles, and painted them with him. Her Gran’Pa taught her how to write, guiding her little hand, enveloping her tiny fingers with his large, calloused paw, and Paku was always distracted by the black, thick hair on his knuckles. Now, it was her who guided his brush, her little hand lost on this clumsy fist, petting it as it was a kitten. She chose different colors for each pebble. She gave them names, that were stories. This blue pebble, that was the day the rabbit ran away and they chased him down all day long; this pale green, when she slided on the mud and drenched everyone around; the pink one, when he fought this fire and met Gran’Ma; the red was for the doll he sewed for her; the yellow was for her dad.

When the pebbles dried, she put them in a biscuit box and showed them to Gran’Pa. She took them one by one, naming them, marking out the way back to present, like a Hop-O'My-Thumb in his path in the forest, so he could go back safe to his present, to her. Gran’Pa always listened to her patiently, shaking his head, and started to talk about people she didn’t know, memories she never heard of, asking where was his wife who died twelve years ago.

And finally, the bitter man inside took his most precious part : his calm, and his humor. He turned irritable, he bursted out in anger suddenly, at the tiniest thing. She started to get scared, not because of the anger, or the sudden change. She was scared because Gran’Pa was now an empty shell, and the dying bitter man had taken his place, moving this body like a puppet. She knew Gran’Pa had lost the battle.

She didn’t cry when he died. She was mature now. All the years spared from the bitter man were already hers for long. Her gran’pa had handed her down while he still could. She wasn’t a child anymore.

She didn’t cry while walking up the hill, when she saw her Gran’Pa’s body waiting on the wood pile, when the high flames surrounded him gently, like a giant palm to guide his soul. Paku waved at the smoke to say goodbye. Her parents thought it was cute, but it was to the bitter man, who stole her gran’pa, she was saying goodbye. She was glad he was gone.

The following days, her parents took time to talk to her about death, about mourn, the sense of lost. They talked openly about how they missed him. But Paku couldn’t understand. She never missed him. She knew where she could always find him. In her calm temper, in her hand writing, and in a biscuit box, in bright pebbles that shined in every color of the world.


End file.
